The Demise
by insert name here
Summary: What would have happened if they weren't rescued? A different ending to The Lord of the Flies. RR


Author's note: The italicized section is directly from the book (It's in the last chapter after the island is on fire, and Ralph is about to look up and see the navel officer.) The rest is a different ending to the book (it was an assignment for English) that I created. Any and all reviews will be greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

**The Demise**

_He stumbled over a root and the cry that pursued him rose even higher. He saw a shelter burst into flames and the fire flapped at his right shoulder and there was the glitter of water. Then he was down rolling over and over in the warm sand, crouching with arm to ward off, trying to cry for mercy. _

_He staggered to his feet, tensed for more terrors, and looked up_. Above him, Ralph saw the identical unpainted faces of Samneric. His eyes focused on their faces and he gibbered incoherently. Only the words "rescue" and "help" were recognizable in his speech. Ralph was so focused on trying to convince Samneric to help him, he never noticed Roger creeping up behind him. With a sharp pain in his back, Ralph became aware of his vision starting to blur. As he fell forward into the depths of unconsciousness he could just barely see Samneric simultaneously mouthing the words "I'm sorry."

Samneric watched with horror and repulsion as Roger, after brutally stabbing Ralph in the back with his spear, began to create more and more wounds in Ralph's lifeless body. Blood gushed out of the wounds, until finally there was no more blood for his weakening heart to pump. With a final shudder Ralph's heart beat its last heartbeat, and Ralph lay still. With one sound, and with one retching movement, Samneric's stomachs emptied themselves onto the warm sand.

Roger, infatuated with the blood and gore, began to smear Ralph's blood onto his body. Roger began to chant softly, "Kill the beast. Cut his throat. Spill his blood." His chant grew louder and louder as his faint whisper became a shout. His fervor was so great he was powerless to control the whelming urge to put Ralph's head on a doubly sharpened spear. Ralph's head would soon be the newest gift for the beast. However, it was no longer about the beast. It was about the joy of the hunt, about the ecstasy he felt as his spear protruded through flesh and bone. It was a symbol of Roger's greatest moment of bliss.

The other savages approached and encircled Roger, watching and waiting. The throng knew what was coming and watched in silent anticipation. Roger, eagerly appeasing the crowd, lifted his spear high above his head, almost like a talisman against civilization. With a downward thrust the spear entered Ralph's neck and stabbed through blood, bone, and sinew. Again and again with repetitious thrusts Roger decapitated Ralph. Roger grasped Ralph's severed head by his long tangled hair and held it high for all to see. The mob cheered and Roger flourished in their admiration. Roger reached down and grabbed the double ended spear from Ralph's grasp. Roger impaled the ground with the spear and it stuck with one sharpened end pointed toward the sky. Roger ceremoniously placed Ralph's head onto the sharp point. With a cheer the boys exulted. They celebrated the death of their enemy, no longer recognizing their former chief or themselves as former members of his tribe.

Their ritual concluded, the boys turned around and focused their attention onto the island. The island, once a beautiful paradise, was now a scorched mass of death and destruction. Fires smoldered in the charred remains of the forest. Their skin was blackened by the ashes covering the ground. The bushes that once provided the boys with nutrition were reduced to scorched skeletons.

Jack, fully painted and escorted by two of his minions stared at the island in wonder. The only thought that was in his mind was, "How will we catch pigs in this?" Jack clapped twice and the crowd parted. They all stared at Jack with apprehension.

"What now?" asked a littlun. Jack said nothing, but gazed off into the distance. Soon all the littluns were inquiring what was to be done. Jack shouted at them to be quiet and to leave him alone. Slowly the littluns lost interest and wandered off to explore their newly charred home.

Jack walked alone along the edge of the island. He and his hunters would have to go hunting soon since they no longer had fruit to eat. Jack wondered whether any pigs had survived the fires.

Jack bent down and trod on all fours into what was once the forest. He felt sharp pains in his hands and feet and realized they were covered in splinters. He paused and looked at himself. His pants were nearly gone; all that was left were tattered remains. They were held up by a belt, holding only a knife and a broken pair of glasses. Jack's skin was pealing and red. His hair was long, and filled with dirt, leaves, and twigs. However, it had been so long that Jack found nothing unusual about his appearance.

Jack heard the snapping of twigs and whipped around to see who was behind him. Roger held up a hand. "Relax, it's only me."

"What do you want?" Jack's voice was sharp and filled with annoyance.

"The tribe…"

"What about the tribe?" Jack interrupted accusingly.

Roger paused, and then continued. "They're… scared." Roger said this last word with loathing as if being scared was the same thing as being weak. In Roger's mind weakness could not be tolerated.

Jack sighed and walked away. Roger stared after him, then rolled his eyes and walked towards the beach, looking for trouble. Jack knew he would have to call a meeting. He wasn't looking forward to it. Jack realized that since the tribe was scared he would have to use that to his advantage. He knew that a scared tribe would follow a strong leader. In Jack's mind, he was that strong leader.

Jack thought about the hunt. His instincts told him there wouldn't be any pigs left alive, but Jack's leadership was at stake. The main reason for his position in the tribe was his strength and ability to hunt. If there was no hunt there would be no need for Jack. The boys would find someone else.

Jack realized he was approaching the fort. He heard a shout, "Halt! Who goes there?"

"Jack." He hollered then entered the fort. He looked at the boys, a small scared cluster of painted savages. On many of those faces the paint had been smudged by tears. A group of littluns were huddled in a corner, sobbing.

"What is this? What is this?" Jack repeated himself for emphasis. "What are you a bunch of babies?"

A littlun let out a loud wail.

"You're not babies! Do you hear me? You're my tribe, and if you want to be a whiny bunch of babies then leave right now." Jack pointed towards the exit, glowering. Nobody moved. "I see." Jack surveyed the crowd. "Who wants to hunt? Who wants to be a man?" Jack's voice rallied the tribe, and a few even cheered. "Alright! Let's go hunting!" Jack, followed by his tribe, grabbed his spear and ran out of the fort, ready for action.

They boys combed the island, but not a single pig was found. As the sun began to set the tribe wearily went back to the fort. The tribe was scared, tired, and hungry. The tribe was also starting to doubt Jack's leadership. As they were all gathered in the fort, a former member of the choir stood up.

"I don't think Jack should be leader anymore." There were many surprised gasps. All eyes turned toward Jack, watching and waiting for his response. Jack said nothing but stood up and examined the boy.

"I see. And how many others feel that way?" Jack said softly and kindly. No one had heard Jack speak this way before, and the change in his voice gave a few of them the strength to raise their hands. Jack waited until nearly half the tribe's hands were raised. Jack locked eyes with Roger. "I want their heads by morning." Jack's words were cold and final.

There was complete havoc as Roger and Jack's loyal tribe mates began to round up the mutineers. Soon they were all tied to trees with the few vines that didn't burn in the fires. Jack watched as his tribe began to chant, egging Roger on as he began to torture the rebels.

Roger started by poking them with his spear, making them squirm against the rough bark. One by one they were all quavering against their trees. Roger spoke derisively to them. He pointed out all their flaws and called them weaklings. He said they were no better than the ashes on their feet. Roger grabbed a handful of ashes and threw them into each boy's eyes. They tremulously squirmed with fear and discomfort. All the boys were crying softly. Their torment seemed interminable. Finally, one by one, Roger used his spear to inflict deep wounds. He made the others watch their friends as they were brutally tortured to death. One by one a line of severed heads began to make its way all along the beach. The following morning Jack walked along the line, smiling his approval.

Six Years Later

A ship sailed along the sapphire sea. The captain spotted an island, and directed his fishing boat to the shore. The island was dark and desolate. Small trees and weeds were beginning to form through the ashes covering the ground. The captain looked at the island, wondering curiously what happened. He saw the mountain and figured it might be a volcano. As the boat approached the beach the captain saw something horrific. His eyes widened. He could barely believe what he saw before him. They landed the ship on the beach and the captain exited. "Wait here, there's something I have to see." He said to his shipmates. It was true. There was a long line of severed human heads, stretching off into the distance.


End file.
